


Haunt You Love

by pitypartyof1



Series: Inspired by Josh Pyke [2]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Chicago Blackhawks, Hockey, M/M, Sad, Sweet Jesus, get ready for tears
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-08
Updated: 2015-07-08
Packaged: 2018-04-08 06:17:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4293948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pitypartyof1/pseuds/pitypartyof1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Patrick is ill.</p><p>Inspired by Josh Pyke's "Haunt You Love"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Haunt You Love

**Author's Note:**

> This is the second in my series of stories inspired by Josh Pyke lyrics, this one from a song entitled "Haunt You Love".

                  **_“We’re only pictures hung crooked upon a crumbling wall, one so unadorned, as unadorned as the neck, the bare neck of your sweetheart. Oh, one day you will hold this hand no more. One day you will call my name in your sleep, and I will haunt you love, sing to you from the foot of our bed.”_**

**_— “Haunt You Love”_ **

The bed feels empty and Jonny’s sure he’ll never get used to it, doesn’t want to. When he thinks about how Pat’s side will never be warm again, he wants to cry. He very nearly gets into the car to head back to the hospital. Pat needs his rest though. There’ll be punched out purple bruises under his eyes when Jonny goes to see him tomorrow, and Jonny doesn’t want to be a contributing factor. Being strong for Patrick is what he needs to do now.

Sitting up, he digs the heels of his palms into his eyes and rubs as the blankets pool at his waist. He spends a moment lost in memories, gazing at Pat’s side before pulling Pat’s pillow over and burying his face in it. The pillow case still smells vaguely like Patrick and Jonny thinks he’ll probably never wash it. Things aren’t good, Patrick’s going downhill fast and soon, Jonny knows, this is all he’ll have. He’ll be left with memories and the faint smell of pine and sunshine that is Pat. Curling himself around it, Jonny decides to allow a moment of weakness. Anger and grief wash through him in equal measures, and Jonny cries until he passes out.

When he wakes in the morning, his eyes are gummed shut, and his head throbs. Fumbling his way through a quick shower, he barely brushes his teeth before he’s out the door, on his way to Pat. The drive over is always the worst part for him. Road rage isn’t something he ever struggled with before Pat got sick. Now, all he wants is a clear shot to get to the hospital as quickly as possible. They live in Chicago, and Jonny knows it’ll never happen. Instead, he spends the entire trip slamming his horn and shouting at various drivers. It doesn’t speed the trip, and it certainly doesn’t make him feel better.

Pat’s face breaks into a tired, tiny smile as Jonny enters his room. He’s just barely propped up at a slight incline. Jonny was right about his eyes, and Pat’s pale, too, nearly blending with the sheets pulled over him now. Despite the oxygen tube hooked into his nasal passages, his breathing is fairly shallow.

Pat clears his throat, attempts to wet his lips. “Jonny,” he coughs out.

It’s enough, though, and Jonny strides across the room, gingerly perching on the edge of Patrick’s bed. “Pat,” he chokes back. “Pat.” When he places his own large hand over Pat’s smaller one, he’s stunned by how cold it is. He’s trying subtly to take inventory of Pat, cataloguing all the small changes that show his body wearing down. It’s as he notices the prominence of Pat’s collarbones, the veins and tendons of his neck straining under thin skin that he realizes it’s not there.

“Your chain’s gone,” he whispers to Pat. Pat just moans noncommittally, already floating off again in the haze of medications he’s on. It’s a small thing, but it bothers Jonny. Pat’s been wearing that chain for as long as Jonny’s known him, and it’s not right to see him without it. Logically he knows that it makes no difference to Pat. Most days he’s lucky if Pat realizes he’s there. Still, Jonny wants Pat to have it. That’s how he remembers healthy Patrick.

The first nurse stops in around 8:05 AM to string up a new bag of morphine to Patrick’s IV and check his blood pressure. Jonny doesn’t think he’s seen her before. He knows most of Pat’s nurses by name at this point, and always makes small talk with them. When he asks, she tells him she’s new. Her name is Clara, and Jonny asks her how Pat’s doing, and if she knows what might’ve happened to his chain.

“He’s about as good as can be expected,” she tells him. “Blood pressure is still low. The WBC came back a little low as well. As for the chain,” she pauses to log some information into a monitor, “I think they removed it before this morning’s PET scan.”

Jonny nods dumbly and thanks her. He’d forgotten they were doing the PET today. The low white blood cell count had spurred it. Patrick probably wouldn’t have known the difference, but Jonny berates himself for not being there.

Clara casts him a sympathetic glance and pauses in the doorway. “Dr. Bates will be in later this morning to discuss the results of the scan with you,” she tells him kindly.

The room is silent when she leaves apart from Pat’s light breaths. Loathe as he is to release his hand, Jonny needs to pull his usual chair over. Perching on the bed is giving him a backache. Once he’s settled, he again clutches at Pat’s fingers. They’re nothing but bone, and the vice that’s been around Jon’s heart since this began tightens that much more. His shoulders shake, but that’s the most he’ll allow himself in front of Pat. It doesn’t matter if Pat can see or hear him.

He must fall asleep for a while because he wakes having dreamt of the summer he and Pat decided to plant a garden in the back yard.

He remembers Pat yelling “Rhubarb’s gross!” and chucking dirt clods at him as he tries to explain that Rhubarb is _delicious_. And, because he hates to lose, Jonny went and baked him a Rhubarb pie. Pat stuffed his face mumbling “okay,” and “you can plant Rhubarb” between large mouthfuls. Of course he quickly pointed out later that he’d be expecting lots of pie. Jonny remembers dimples flashing at him from the sofa Pat had claimed as his sovereign territory that evening.

As he recalls it all, he retells the story to Patrick. “Remember how sunburned you got digging out there?” he asks, squeezing Pat’s hand briefly. There’s a small flutter of eyelashes, but no more response than that. Jon keeps talking to him anyway. It calms something inside him. So, he spends a majority of the morning talking to him, telling Pat how much he misses him, but “not your cooking, bud.” The fond grin he bestows on Pat’s slack face slides off quickly. It’s replaced by a forlornness that’s becoming near constant.

It’s not much later when Patrick’s Oncologist pokes his head in with a soft knock on the door.

“Jonathan?”

Jonny’s head snaps up, and he attempts to focus on the man’s face. “Dr. Bates,” he greets.

The specialist indicates Patrick’s prone form with a nod, “how’s he been this morning?”

“Sleeping, mostly.”

“Yes, that’s to be expected.” Dr. Bates takes a moment to glace down to Patrick’s chart. “Let’s get down to it, shall we?”

Jonny nods. One of the things he likes about Patrick’s Oncologist is his no-nonsense attitude. He doesn’t sugarcoat things. Details are freely given, and he’s always willing to take time to answer all of Jon’s questions and addresses every concern.

“As you know, Patrick’s last PET scan showed a spread of the tumor from his groin into the left side of his diaphragm and adenoids.” Pausing here, he makes eye contact with Jonny, ensuring that they’re on the same page. “His most recent results show a further spread. It’s now throughout his diaphragm, and his spleen is showing signs.”

“He seems to really struggle, even with the oxygen,” Jonny intones, nodding.

Dr. Bates places a firm hand on Jonny’s shoulder and again waits for him to meet his gaze. It’s meant to be a show of support and sympathy, because there is no way to soften the blow he delivers. In a somber tone, he tells Jonny that Patrick has progressed to Stage IV.

“I’ve scheduled a Bone Marrow Biopsy for later this afternoon; I suspect the cancer has moved much faster than anticipated.” He bows his head and takes a steadying breath before delivering his final words. “I’m sorry, Jon.”

Those words are like the final nail in Patrick’s coffin. All of the Radiation, the Chemo, none of it made any difference, it slowed nothing. On some level, Jonny knew it was inevitable, but those final words of sympathy let him know the battle’s been won, even if they don’t say it out loud. Jonny shakes, trying to swallow past the lump in his throat, unable to say a word.

The Oncologist moves to stand, staring sadly at Jonny and again laying a hand on his shoulder. “It never gets any easier to say it,” he mumbles, more to himself than for Jon’s benefit. Facing Jon, he adopts a voice that is hushed, but still forceful enough to catch Jon’s attention. “I’ll be back once we’ve received the results of the Bone Marrow Biopsy. We’ll discuss options then, son. Until then, take care of him. Clara will let you know what time they’ll be up for him.”

 Dr. Bates shuts the door softly as he exits, to give him privacy, he knows. Jonny watches him go with tears streaking down his face. He’d known his time with Patrick had an expiration date. No one lives forever, but he never expected he’d lose Patrick this soon. They’d had so many adventures left in their lives together.

Soon, he’ll no longer be able to hold Patrick’s strong, calloused hands. Patrick will cease to be here. He’ll haunt Jonny as he calls out in his sleep, greeting him softly from the foot of their bed. Maybe then Jonny will imagine Patrick’s arms around him, because he knows with cold certainty that there will never be another pair to replace them.

**Author's Note:**

> I would like to acknowledge that I don't have an in-depth knowledge of cancer. I have lost 4 people in my life to this disease.  
> That being said, I did try to do some limited research.  
> What I'm trying to say is: If there is something off/wrong, I apologize. All mistakes are mine.


End file.
